Shards of Life
by ArtemisXYZ
Summary: A murder can shatter many lives, create a ripple effect that impacts so many...But it can also bring closure. And maybe another chance at a brighter future.  Author's Note: The M rating is for precaution, since this is a story in progress.
1. Prologue

A shoe scraped on the asphalt behind her. She whirled, the narrow beam of her flashlight piercing the darkness of the alley. Nothing. There was no one behind her. She shook her head, wishing she'd left a message on his voicemail when she called earlier, to let him know about her little outing.

Finished with perusing the darkness, she turned back. Her eyes registered the dark form in front of her, but before she could point her flashlight, her wrist was seized in a bruising grip. Her training kicked right in, not that it did her any good. A staggering kick to her left thigh swept her off her feet, and she tasted blood as she bit her tongue when the back of her head collided with the ground...Then everything went black.

A stinging slap brought her back to awareness. The alley was still dark, nothing penetrated the oppressing blackness, except for that darker form towering over her. Her assailant probably had NVGs, but it was worth the risk. She slowly reached for her waistband...And came up empty.

A deep chuckle sounded from above her. "No one can help you now, little bitch, so don't bother."

She gritted her teeth. Yes, he took her cell, so she couldn't call for help and she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of screaming. No one could hear her. But she wasn't defenseless. She'd fight him to the death. She tensed, a coiled serpent prepared to strike, when he brought his foot down hard onto her stomach. All air rushed out of her lungs and bile rose into her throat. He added a swift kick to her left side, effectively flipping her over.

Before she could recover, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled. Her vision swam as tears flooded her eyes at the stinging pain in her scalp. Still clutching her hair, he hauled her to her knees and she felt the cold muzzle of a gun against her nape.

For a fleeting moment she debated resisting, but knew it was futile. Time seemed to slow down as her senses intensified. She clearly saw the trash bags littering the ground on her left, the mouth of the alley in front of her and the line where the rooftops of the surrounding buildings met the sky. She felt every single grain in the asphalt under her knees, her scalp burned where her hair pulled, she felt the distinct impression of her attacker's knuckles against her head, and the small patch of skin on her nape where the muzzle of his gun touched her was slowly going numb. She could taste the sweet and metallic taste of blood in her mouth, smell in on the ground, her clothes and skin. One of the bags to her left was split, spilling its trashy guts into the alley. The smell of it mixed with the smell of metal of the gun poised at the back of her neck. As she heard the trigger slowly engage, the click the guns make just before discharge, she flashed back on her life. The joy and sorrow, drama, all the successes, the people she helped, the ones she couldn't...Not that many regrets. Maybe one. Big. She should've listened to her heart, she should have—

A loud pop splintered the silence of the night. The bullet tore her skin open, burrowed between the vertebrae and severed the spinal cord. As he felt her slump, he released her hair, leaving her lifeless body to crumple forward. A nudge with the tip of his boot brought her onto her back. Her eyes were open, the hazel irises staring sightlessly up into the sky.

He pocketed the SIG Sauer and pulled his modified Stoeger from its holster on his thigh, sighted...And the silence shattered again.

He checked his handiwork, re-holstered, turned, and disappeared into the darkness, leaving his victim lying in the middle of the alley in a pool of her own blood and tissue.


	2. Chapter 1

Her day started long before the call. The morning ritual was always the same, with breakfast—still in her PJs, twenty minutes of Pilates, ten minutes of yoga, a warm shower, and an extra cup of cocoa. She was in the process of zipping her jacket when the call came at 6 a. m.

X X X

X X X

She listened to the click of her heels on the asphalt as she walked from her car to the alley, following the human breadcrumb trail comprised of CSU techs canvasing the area. The alley where the body had been discovered was rather remote, impossible to reach by car, part of a small maze of alleys in the seedier part of Washington Heights.

She flashed her badge and ducked under the yellow tape, musing on this being a perfect spot to commit murder...Or dump the body. Which already gave her a big clue as to who might have done the deed. It wasn't the Mob. They preferred the East River for their dumping disposal.

"What you got, Dr. O'Halloran?"

The new M.E. lifted his head, his eyes crinkling a little as he peered at her in the gloom. "Victim is a female, Caucasian, 25-35. Death is pretty recent, she's not yet in rigor."

"Less than three hours ago," she murmured, scanning the ground with the help of her flashlight.

"Yes. You'll have to wait for the autopsy for me to be more accurate."

"Okay, doctor." She moved closer, into the halo created by two spotlights bathing the body in light. "What about CO—" A thrill ran up her spine as she gazed down at the victim.

In front of her lay the body of a tall, slender brunette. Dark, skinny jeans hugged long legs, the calf-length coat was open, revealing a navy blue shirt unbuttoned at the throat. The left sleeve of her coat was bunched at the elbow, the right one was torn at the shoulder, her palms were upturned, showing signs of resistance. She would've looked peaceful if it wasn't for the bloody mess where her face should've been. Her long, wavy hair was matted with blood and brain tissue, a few tendrils curling in the carnage of her face.

"Never mind. Found any ID?"

The M.E. shook his head. "None. Maybe the CSU will have more luck."

A corner of her mouth curved. "Playing detective, doc?"

He looked sheepish. "Well, I only wished to spare you the routine."

"Just kidding, don't worry." She crouched by the body and pulled on the latex gloves he offered her. "Thanks." She ran her eyes over the body. "Did you find anything useful in identifying her if we don't find any ID?"

O'Halloran shook his head. "Nothing. Rather generic clothing, nothing of brand...She could be anyone."

"Not anyone, doc. She's someone's daughter—"

"Sister, wife and friend," he finished the, despite his short status as M.E., often-heard speech. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just...I really hate Jane Does."

"Tell me about it. The missing persons database is often a dud, if we fingerprint they're often not in the system, same for DNA..." She lifted the victim's left arm. "The cuff is crooked."

"Probably from the struggle."

"Maybe." She peered into the sleeve. "Or maybe..." She unbutton the cuff, showing him a discolored band of skin on the wrist. "Someone took her watch."

"Robbery?"

"Why would a robber button the cuff after the deed?" She moved a lock of hair off the victim's ear. "Or leave the earrings?"

"Detective!" An officer approached, a brown item in his gloved hand. "We found this between the trash bags."

"Let's see." She rose and took the thin wallet, opened it. "You can discount robbery, doc." She pulled a couple of folded bills from a compartment. "No ID and no credit cards." She looked down at the faceless body. "But someone went to a lot of trouble to hide her identity."

X X X

X X X

The sliding doors into the morgue _whooshed_ open and she was once again staring down at the missing face of Jane Doe.

"Anything, doc?"

O'Halloran removed his plastic goggles, replaced them with his glasses, opened a file, and turned to her. "Plenty, Detective." He cleared his throat. "TOD was somewhere between 3.30 and 5.30 a.m. as I suspected."

She nodded, leaning her palms on the autopsy table. "Cause of death? The shotgun blast to the face?"

"A 12 gauge, probably sawed-off, but it was post-mortem." He closed the file, tucked it under his arm, and turned the victim's head to the side. "Here is your killer. A single GSW to the back of the head."

Another thrill rushed up her spine as she leaned closer. "Execution style," she murmured. "Nine mil?" She looked up to see him shake his head.

".45 ACP."

Something went cold inside her as she straightened. ".45?"

"The diameter of the wound suggests it. I will have to find the bullet to confirm it."

"Shit," she murmured, her fingers brushing tenderly over the SIG at her hip, truly hoping he was wrong about the caliber. "But why would he bother with the shot to the face?" That didn't make any sense. "Doc, tell me you got something."

"As the matter of fact I do. Her fingerprints were in the system." He handed her the file. "I know exactly who she is."

She opened the file, blinked at the photo, read the data, turned the page, looked at O'Halloran, "You got to be kidding me," glanced at the picture again, and once more read the info. Still holding the open file, she slowly lifted her gaze to meet the M.E.'s eyes. "I think the shit just gained its sainthood." She pulled her phone out of her pocket and pressed 2.


	3. Chapter 2

"Yes! Who's the man? I'm the man!"

"Richard!" Martha Rogers succeeded in regally descending the stairs holding a script in one hand, a Martini in the other, all the while scowling prettily at her son. "What is all this ruckus about?"

Richard Castle froze in the middle of his celebratory dance. "Mother, guess who just set a new record in _Angry Birds_?" He blinked innocently at her. "Yours truly."

Martha rolled her eyes. "Still playing with your phone, I see. Don't you have anything better to do?" She set her empty cocktail glass on the coffee table and touched his arm. "Like going down to the precinct and spend the day with lovely Detective Beckett?"

She demurely checked her watch. "It's past nine already and she hasn't called yet. You cannot tell me no one has been murdered today."

Castle sighed gravely. "She took a few days off, Mother. I believe I told you that."

She merely shrugged, watching as her son's face lost all traces of mirth, transforming her little boy into the serious, and slightly heartbroken, man, that made too many appearances of late.

"She said she needed space. But I guess she just wanted some time alone with Josh."

"Darling." Martha patted his arm. "If you would only open up to her. Tell her how you feel—"

"Mother," he interrupted with that snippy tone of voice he's rarely used when Detective Beckett had been single, "let it go."

She snapped her fingers. "Fine! I'll let it go. I only wish you'd let it go as well, then. Stop moping around. Stop playing stupid phone games. Just go to the precinct even if she's not there. Those two detectives are there, are they not? They're your friends as well, maybe they'll let you tag along. Or go to that bar of yours and stop contaminating this house with your ill humor."

She turned on her high heel with all the drama in her body and swept back up the stairs, leaving Richard Castle staring dejectedly into nothingness.

The slam of a door upstairs brought him out of his miserable reverie. He looked at the screen of his phone, willing it to ring.

It didn't.

She didn't call. She wouldn't call, she said she needed some time to think about things. But he really wished she'd call. He wanted to tell her about his record braking performance in _Angry Birds_. And if _he_ called she'd just go all prissy on him for bothering her in her downtime.

A sigh later, he was once again sprawled on his couch, fiddling with his phone.

X X X

X X X

Back at her desk, she was excelling at multitasking—reading a file, drinking green tea, tapping on her keyboard for more info on that morning's victim, all the while holding the receiver between left shoulder and cheek—when her two favorite detectives walked toward her desk.

She motioned for them to sit with the hand still holding the tall paper cup, holding up the other hand in a sign for them to wait.

"I appreciate that, Luke." She looked at her computer screen. "Yeah, I just received it. Thanks. I owe you one, man."

She set the phone and paper cup down and looked first into a par of brown and then a pair of blue eyes. "The shit just hit the fan, boys."

"ID came back on the body?"

She nodded, handing them two identical files. "Here's the info."

A string of muttered expletives sounded as they opened them.

"No way."

"You're kidding, right?"

She leaned back in her chair. "Way, and I wish I was kidding."

"Does Rick know about this?"

"He's on his way, but he only knows that we discovered a body. I preferred not telling him on the phone." She looked at them gravely. "We need to keep this on the down low. Less people know about this, the better. I don't want a media frenzy on this, you got me?"

"Loud and clear."

"Gotcha."

The elevator pinged and a chorus of "Ricky!"s filled the air.

She grabbed another file and walked toward her grinning partner, with the two detectives in tow.

When Rick saw her, his eyes travelled down her legs, back up, and he winked. "Nice shoes, Detective." He looked around. "Call all the crooks in NYC and tell them it's safe for them out there today. She can't chase them in those stilts."

Chuckles and good-natured ribbing filled the air. Everybody knew she was more than capable of outrunning them all, even in heels.

Smiles disappeared and seasoned officers started looking around for a place to hide at her chilling look.

Rick's grin vanished. "Who was she?" he asked softly.

Without a word she led the way to the small conference room to their left. When the three men filed in after her, she closed the door, gave the last member of their little task force his copy of the file, and set in her usual chair.

She watched him as he read, his expression changing from slight boredom to wide-eyed surprise, finally settling on grim acceptance.

"Shit."

"My sentiments exactly." She leaned forward, interlocking her fingers in front of her on the table. "What's in the file is just the tip of the iceberg, gentlemen. The icing on the cake, if you like. Luke sent me the rest. I forwarded it to your PDAs. It's encrypted. You all know the password." She looked at each of them. "I'm still waiting for the autopsy report. Until we get a better picture, we need to keep this quiet. For now only a selected few know. The M.E., the Cap, and Luke. And they'll keep it shut. No one else knows until I say they can, you got me?"

All three nodded at the same time. Though it was obvious they wanted to ask the reason for such secrecy, no one questioned her.

"Good. Go read the rest of the info, find anything else that could be relevant, and we'll meet again here in one hour. And keep those," she waved at the three folders on the table, "under the proverbial lock and key."


	4. Chapter 3

An hour on the dot later the four of them were joined by their Captain and Luke Connor, the newest Detective at the precinct, a computer prodigy with the knack of uncovering everything about anyone, and an incredible capacity for keeping his mouth shut when he needed to.

"Okay," she started. "We know who the victim is, all the pertinent information about her. Anything to add to what we know, gentlemen?"

Her five companions were silent.

"Fine." She pulled a sheet of paper from the file in front of her. "Doc O'Halloran is still fishing for a bullet, so we'll work with what we got. This is the list of the people closest to her that we need to interview. I'll go inform her next-of-kin and will call you all when I'm done." She looked at the man on her left. "Captain, could you give us a hand in this?"

"You can count on it."

"Well, your choice is obvious. Do you guys have any preferences?"

"Do we really have to do it like this?"

She looked at Luke. "It's better this way. We get them unprepared. They can't call each other with warnings."

"You're considering them all suspects?"

"Guilty until proven innocent."

The captain smiled a little. "Isn't it the other way around?"

She shrugged. "I prefer my version." She looked around. "No one wants to go first? Fine. I'll take him." She pointed to a name on her short list, stood, and grabbed her jacket. "Wait until you hear from me."

When she left, Luke muttered, "You'd think this is war."

Rick followed her progress toward the elevators. "It appears that for her it is."

X X X

X X X

She slammed the door of her car and rubbed the back of her neck. She could feel a headache coming. Visiting a victim's family always had that effect on her, but this one had been especially brutal. She didn't look forward to her next interview.

She pulled on her jacket and was about to step onto the sidewalk, when the doorman exited the building, a protest forming on his lips.

She flashed her badge and went past him and into the high-end building without another word. She'd do plenty of talking in a few minutes. She heard him return to his post as she waited for the elevator in the lobby, but ignored him.

In the elevator she pulled her sunglasses off her nose and pushed them up to the crown of her head. She needed a clear view of the interviewee if she wanted to do this right. She quickly checked her appearance in the reflecting surface of the elevator door. She was dressed all in black, quite appropriate for the occasion. Her feet were nicely cradled in four-inch heeled ankle boots, tight leggings hugged her legs, and her short black leather jacket completed the black ensemble. The only relief from all the black was the tiny pink rose motif on the hem of her tunic blouse peeking from under her jacket, her pale skin, and her brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail.

She alighted on the top floor. Her heels sunk into the plush carpet as she moved toward the door, checking her small notebook for good measure. This was it.

She took a deep breath, felt her features rearrange into an unreadable mask, ran her left hand along her ponytail to smooth any wayward hair, and pressed the buzzer.

The door opened and she encountered the light-blue gaze of a redheaded teenager in front of her who greeted her with a simple "Hi".

"Good afternoon," she replied, "is—"

A male voice interrupted her question. "Who is it, Alexis?" The man she was looking for appeared behind his daughter, arching an eyebrow as he saw her in the hall.

"Richard Castle?" she asked, although she didn't need to. Everybody in New York knew who the guy was.

"Yes?"

She flashed her badge. "Detective Samantha Cole, NYPD. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

His forehead crinkled into a surprised frown, but he moved to the side, motioning her to enter.

"Thank you." She quickly scanned the loft, before turning to see him close the door behind her. As he met her eyes, the frown still on his face, she looked pointedly at his daughter. "I need to talk to you in private, Mr. Castle."

Alexis Castle flashed a small smile. "I'll be in my room, dad."

As the girl disappeared up the stairs, Richard Castle indicated the couch. "Please, sit down. Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you."

He sat beside her and she angled her body toward him. His gaze travelled from her head to the points of her boots and back. "I've never met you before, have I?"

"No, you haven't, Mr. Castle." She opened her notebook and untucked the pen from the cover.

"You don't work at the 12th then?"

"34th. Mr. Castle—"

"You're a long way from home. Do you know Detective Beckett? Kate Beckett?"

She shook her head, cleared her throat. "I haven't had the pleasure." When she saw he was about to interrupt her again, she beat him to it. "Listen, Mr. Castle, I only have a few questions to ask and then I'll be out of your hair."

He nodded. "Okay. What's this about?"

"Murder."

His eyes widened. "Murder, huh. Can I help?"

"Yes, you can." She nodded slightly. "By answering a couple of questions."

"Fire away—Wait! Am I a suspect?"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "A body was discovered in Washington Heights this morning. A preliminary investigation revealed you and the victim had a special relationship. I was hoping you could shed some light on your whereabouts earlier in the day."

If he noticed she didn't need any light shed on his special relationship with the victim, he didn't let it show. "Ask your questions, Detective."

"Where were you between 3.30 and 5.30 this morning?"

He didn't even think. "In bed." He elaborated on that. "Sleeping."

She made a note. "Can anybody vouch for that?"

He smiled, the skin in the corner of his eyes crinkling charmingly. "My, my, Detective. Is this your subtle way of learning if I'm single? Because it isn't subtle at all."

Her expression never changed. "No, Mr. Castle, this is my non-subtle way of discovering whether you're a murderer."

All signs of mirth and charm were wiped off his face. "There really was a murder?"

"No, I flash my badge and bring up fictitious murder to get a date. It's tough being a single woman in this city."

She could tell he was clenching his teeth by the way his jaw squared, so she cocked her head slightly. "Let's do this again, shall we? Can anybody vouch that you were in bed—sleeping—between 3.30 and 5.30 this morning?"

"No, Detective. I was alone."

She scribbled in her notebook. "Pretty flimsy alibi, Mr. Castle."

He ran out of patience. "I didn't know I needed one, Detective. Since I didn't kill anyone."

"So you say."

He threw his hands up in exasperation. "If this is your way of conducting a murder investigation, you have a long way to go. Because let me tell you something, lady. You suck at it."

"If you say so." Maybe she should back off a little, but she needed him riled. People usually told the truth when their emotions were running hot.

Richard Castle shot to his feet and grabbed his phone. "That's it!"

She slowly rose. If he was calling his lawyer he was guilty. She couldn't imagine him being guilty. It didn't fit.

"I want to know who I supposedly killed." He glared at her. "And since you so obviously won't tell me, I'll call my source at the PD."

"Who might that be?" she asked.

"Detective Beckett."

"Don't bother, Mr. Castle," she said softly. "She can't tell you anything."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because it's her killer I need to find."


	5. Chapter 4

Time seemed to slow down into a trickle. His knees gave out and he folded himself onto the couch. There was a roaring inside his head as a strange face filled his vision. A female face. That Detective, whatever her name was, that claimed Kate was dead.

Well, it couldn't be. It must've been some kind of joke, because Kate couldn't be dead. He'd feel it if she was gone. He didn't feel any different. So she couldn't be dead. Could she?

The woman's mouth was moving, she was talking, but whatever came out of her mouth was garbled.

"Dad? Dad!"

Well, at least his hearing was returning. His daughter's face appeared in his line of vision along with his mother.

"Richard! God, Richard! What's wrong?" Martha turned to the Detective. "What happened? What's going on? Who are you?"

"I'm Detective Cole, ma'am," the woman answered softly. Funny, she hadn't sounded soft and gentle when she was interrogating him about Kate's murder. Oh God, Kate. Murdered.

"Excuse me." He barely heard her over the loud roar concerto in his head. In a haze he watched as she gently pushed his mother to the side, and moved to stand in front of him. "Mr. Castle? Are you okay?"

"Okay? Of course he's not okay," a note of panic was seeping into his mother's voice, but this time she was more than entitled.

"Dad! Dad, please, say something."

He wanted to grab Alexis and hug her for all she was worth, beg her to hug him back. But he couldn't move, he couldn't speak. He just sat there, staring at them.

"Mr. Castle?" The Detective was gently shaking him. "Mr. Castle, can you hear me?"

"My God!" Martha's voice was shrill. "Do something!"

"Right."

A stinging slap brought him right back. "Ouch!"

She nodded as if happy with her accomplishment. "Welcome back, Mr. Castle. I'll leave you in the tender care of your family. And I would appreciate if you didn't share the news with anyone until you cleared it with me. If you'll excuse me." And she marched right to the door.

Castle jumped to his feet, gingerly touching his burning cheek. That had been quite a slap. "Wait! Wait!" He reached her, grabbed her elbow and turned to look at him. "Wait just a damn minute!"

She looked down at where he gripped her elbow and back up at him. Arched an eyebrow, but didn't say a word. Waiting for him to release her.

He did, as if burned. "I want to see her."

She sighed, her gray eyes soft. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs. Castle, but the answer is no."

"No? What do you mean no?" He wanted to see Kate, to make sure it was her and no one would stop him.

"I mean no, you don't want to see her." Something flashed in her eyes, as if she was remembering something very unpleasant. "Trust me, you really don't."

And she was gone, leaving him there, staring at the door she softly closed behind her.

X X X

X X X

Sam arrived back to the precinct feeling slightly sick. It was never pleasant dealing with people who've recently suffered a loss, but today...Today just beat them all. And she'd thought Beckett's father took it hard. Losing both his wife and daughter to murder. Yeah, delivering the news had been hard, but not as agonizing as watching Richard Castle, playboy writer, wilt in front of her at the news of his muse, and rumored love interest, being dead.

If she hadn't known he was innocent before, those few, torturous moments would've confirmed it anyway. It made her feel so utterly guilty for baiting him, for her sarcasm, for her insensitive delivery of the news of Kate Beckett's death.

The way he'd broken down was yet another proof that the rumors were true. No matter how Kate Beckett had felt about him, whether she had considered Richard Castle a nuisance, a true friend, or something more, there was no doubt in Sam's mind that he truly cared for the deceased Detective.

And he had taken the news of her death hard.

Shaking her head to bring herself out of the completely irrelevant reverie, she exited the elevator at the 34th, nodded to a few officers on the way, and went directly to the conference room she's commandeered for their little task force.

She hung her jacket across the back of her chair, sat down with a sigh, and opened her notebook. She hasn't learned anything new today and she suspected her colleagues have come up empty as well. But maybe she would be lucky and something would pop out. She hoped.

Detective Rick Kovacz was the first to return. His face looked haggard, a clear sign his day had been as bad as hers.

"So?" she asked, though she could read it on his features his interview had been just a formality.

He didn't bother looking at his notes. "Doctor Parrish doesn't know anything. She was home, in bed with her boyfriend, this morning, and she was devastated at the news. You?"

"Let's wait for the others, okay?"

He nodded and went to get some coffee. She didn't know how he could drink that swill, but if he thought it would help, who was she to burst his bubble.

She started transferring her notes, along with what Rick just told her, into her PDA, when Captain Mark Arroyo returned, flanked by Detectives Nick Reid and Brad Jones. Their "reconnaissance" mission at the 12th hadn't gone any better. Captain Roy Montgomery and Detectives Kevin Ryan and Javier Esposito, Lanie Parrish's boyfriend, didn't know anything and were completely shocked at the news. They didn't understand the need to keep the murder under wraps, and she didn't want to tell them the reason for the secrecy. Not yet.

She did have a theory, but she really hoped she was wrong. She needed more data, some physical evidence, she needed to read the autopsy report...And she hoped that would blow her little theory straight to hell, so she wouldn't have to share it with anybody, not even the close circle of detectives currently sitting at the table with her, drinking bad coffee.

She leaned back in her chair, pulled the elastic band out of her hair, rubbed her scalp, and was in the process of pulling her hair into another, a little messier and not so tight, ponytail, when the newbie, Luke Connor swept into the conference room. By the expression on his face it was clear he hadn't had as much luck as the rest of them in finding his interviewee. Maybe she had been too hasty in coming to a solution to this murder.

"Okay, they're all alibied out and no one knows anything." She swiped her finger on the screen of her PDA. "Kate Beckett requested a few days off at work, to quote-unquote figure things out, and everybody assumed, when she didn't contact anyone, that she was somewhere cozy with her boyfriend, who," she looked up, met Luke's eyes, "is conveniently missing."

Luke nodded. "Josh Davidson wasn't at his apartment and his bike is gone. I checked at the hospital but apparently it's his day off. I put an APB on him, hopefully he'll appear soon."

"Good." She was silent a moment. "We don't have any big leads. Captain, maybe you could pull a few strings down at the 12th. We should look at her cases, both closed and open, maybe something will jump out."

Captain Arroyo nodded. "They'll want to help."

"I don't need extra hands on this." At his narrowed stare, she added, "For now. I know they'll want to be on board with this one, but let's wait to see how it pans out first, before calling for reinforcements." She cleared her throat. "I do have another theory, but until I see the autopsy report and clear Davidson, I'd rather not speculate. It's possible he offed her in a jealous rage."

"And shot her in the face?"

She shrugged. "You never know." She lifted the picture of a smiling Detective Beckett. "She was a beautiful woman, what better way to get even than disfigure her in death."

She looked around at the skeptic expressions on their faces. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Thin, but—"

Luke's phone rang. He was quick. "They found Josh Davidson."

"Bring him in."

"Sam." Rick shook his head. "Whatever you're thinking, don't."

She sighed. "I have a headache. I'm not in the mood for traipsing around the city for this interview."

"I'll go," Rick said.

Sam shook her head. "I'm primary. Bring him in."


	6. Chapter 5

She closed the door to interrogation and observed the tall man folded into the chair facing the two-way mirror.

Josh Davidson was one of those men who made women trip over their own feet. Tall, dark, with hair slightly longer than norm, deep dark eyes, and just a hint of stubble on his face. He was handsome, and he knew it. It was obvious in his posture, in that sparkle in his eye, in the way his mouth curved at the corners as he watched her.

Well, he was in for a big surprise, because it never worked on her. Sam didn't fall for tall, dark, and handsome. She preferred a more interesting face in a man, charm and humor over leather-encased muscle, and a little less height so as not to develop a crick in her neck each time she had to look up at her man. She also fell for deep and layered, though Doctor Davidson sure qualified in that department, especially if he was killer.

"Mr. Davidson, I'm Detective Cole." She put the file on the table and sat down in front of him, back to the mirror. "Do you know why you're here?"

He shook his head slowly, his small smile never leaving his lips. "Your colleagues kept silent on the way. Will you tell me?"

"In a minute." She opened the file and looked at the paper on top. A little show to keep him on his toes. "Where were you this morning between 3.30 and 5.30?"

"Home."

She scribbled. "Alone?"

"Yes."

"Don't you have a girlfriend? Someone who could corroborate your whereabouts?"

A frown appeared between his eyes. "Yes, I do have a girlfriend, but she wasn't with me. She said she needed some space."

_Gotcha._ Sam smiled inwardly.

"And you didn't like it, did you?" She looked at him. "You didn't like it that she needed some space. You took it quite personally that she refused to spend her off-time from work with you."

He straightened, serious. "What's this about?"

"So you lured her out, to a secluded spot, to talk to her. Reason with her. What did she say, huh, Josh?"

"Wait, wait. What are you talking about. I didn't see Kate in days."

"Ah, days." She nodded, leaned forward. "It must've grated. The way your _girlfriend_ didn't want to spend time with you the way she spent it with another man."

"I don't know what you—" His eyes widened. "Are you saying—"

"That you killed Kate Beckett this morning? Maybe."

"Kate's dead?"

"Yes, she is." She didn't pause when his eyes widened in shock. "So, did you kill her, Mr. Davidson?"

"No!"

"Are you sure? Did you put her own gun to her head and pulled the trigger?"

"No!"

She stood, moved around the table to stand beside him. "Why did you do it, huh? Was it because she told you it was over between you two?" She leaned down. "Tell me, Josh. Was she in love with someone else and you thought if you couldn't have her no one could?" She leaned even closer, her lips almost touching his ear, her voice lowered into a whisper. "How did it feel? Pulling that trigger, watching the light disappear from her eyes? Did it give you a rush?"

He jumped to his feet, staring down at her as if she was nuts, his eyes glittering with moisture. "No, I didn't kill her! I didn't—I wouldn't—How can you even think it?"

She cocked her head to the side, watching him pace the floor, listening to the nuances in his speech, each sentence, each word. When he was done, he stood there, panting, his eyes wild, no trace of the smooth doctor she's encountered upon fist entering interrogation.

She nodded. "Good. We're done here, Mr. Davidson, you're free to go. I'm sorry for your loss." And she left him there.

Rick was waiting when she opened the door. "Good thing I'm used to your tactics or I would've butted in."

She shrugged. "I told you, rattle the suspect and they'll reveal more."

"If they're innocent, maybe."

She just smiled and walked away, straight into chaos.

"I demand to know what's going on with his case!" Roy Montgomery, Captain at the 12th Precinct, stood in the middle of the main office, arms akimbo, glaring at her Captain.

Flanking him were his two detectives, Esposito and Ryan, along with Richard Castle, his daughter Alexis and mother Martha. So much for keeping it quiet until he's cleared it with her.

Reid and Jones acknowledged her with nods from across the room, Connor looked rather spooked, and she felt Rick move closer behind her, having her back like the great partner that he was.

"Listen, Montgomery, I understand she was one of yours, but this is our case, and we'll appraise you as we see fit." Arroyo, despite not having much to work with, wasn't one to back down.

Sam was planning on discreetly moving out, not wanting to risk being spotted, when her exit and "undetection" was thwarted by an angry voice coming from behind her.

"Where is she?" Josh Davidson has apparently come out of his stupor. If she was lucky he wouldn't spot her hidden as she was behind Rick Kovacz's bulk.

All eyes zeroed in on her and she mentally rolled her eyes. Perfect. While Montgomery, Esposito and Ryan still had no clue who she was, Castle's eyes darkened.

"You!" Josh Davidson moved into her line of vision. "Who the hell do you think you are? What's wrong with you?"

Captain Arroyo moved closer with a murmured apology to Montgomery. "What's going on?"

Davidson glared. "And who are you?"

"I'm the Captain, here."

"Well, I have a complaint against one of your detectives." Sam found herself at the other end of his pointed finger. "This one."

Arroyo glanced at her, then back at Davidson. "What's the problem?"

"The problem is, _Captain_, this woman has no concept of tact."

Arroyo once again glanced at her, and arched an eyebrow as if saying 'What else is new?'

"She accused me of killing my girlfriend. Without any kind of proof!"

At Arroyo's pointed glance, Sam supplied the necessary information. "Josh Davidson, victim's boyfriend. I merely asked a few questions."

"She interrogated me!"

"Cole?"

Sam sighed. "I was just checking his alibi. It wasn't an interrogation. He wasn't under arrest. No one Mirandized him." She looked at Josh, a picture of innocence. "You could've walked out of there at any time, Mr. Davidson."

Chuckles from Reid and Jones sounded from across the room, and Rick's clearing of his throat sounded suspiciously like he was covering a laugh.

Her phone chirped and she pulled it from her pocket, checked the screen. The M.E. was letting her know he was done. "I'd love to stay and chat some more, but I have a killer to catch."


	7. Chapter 6

"My God! Who would do something like that? How could they? God, Kate!"

Sam frowned at the voice floating down the hallway. Who the hell was in the morgue?

"I'm sorry, Dr. Parrish. I didn't know she was your friend."

A _whoosh_ of the door and she was in autopsy. "Yes, they were friends," Sam said, annoyed. "You should've known that, O'Halloran."

He looked sheepishly at her.

"As the matter of fact, you should've known _better_, O'Halloran." Sam's eyes narrowed. "I requested discretion."

The petite African-American woman turned from the uncovered body lying on a metallic table sticking out of the wall of refrigerators, tears running down her cheeks. "I needed to see her. I needed to make sure it was her."

Sam nodded, understanding, but still pissed off. "Are you feeling better now?" she asked sarcastically. "Because nothing bring closure as seeing a friend lying cold and still in the morgue, am I right?"

Dr. Parrish pressed her lips together into a thin line, her eyes shooting daggers at her. "You must be the primary on this case."

Sam arched an eyebrow, waited for elaboration.

"Javi called and told me everything."

The morgue door _whooshed_ again, only once, and Sam knew she had an audience. She also suspected who that audience might be. She nodded briskly at the M.E., but O'Halloran merely stared at her as if she's grown two heads all of a sudden. Guess he wasn't used to her bitchy side.

With a faint growl, she marched to the body of Kate Beckett, and quickly pulled the cover back in place, just as Alexis Castle asked, "What's that one her face?"

Lanie Parrish's muffled whimper sounded from behind her, as Sam gently smoothed the sheet, buying some time, until she could be sure her impassive mask was back in place. She silently vowed to the woman whose mortal husk was lying before her under the sheet, that she would find her killer. Make him pay no matter what it took.

She finally turned, almost colliding with Richard Castle.

His eyes dark, his expression unreadable, he met her gaze. "I want to see her."

Sam moved slightly, blocking his view of the covered slab. "No."

"Listen, Detective," he spat. "I don't care who you are, I want to see her."

She notched her chin up, thankful for her four-inch heels that brought her five-foot-and-a-half frame a little closer to his height. Tough to be intimidating when dwarfed by your intimidatee. "Mr. Castle," she said, striving for patience. "As I told you earlier, you _do not_ want to see Detective Beckett's body. If you don't care for my opinion, you can ask Dr. Parrish." She sought the woman's red-rimmed eyes.

He tried to walk around her. "And as I told you earlier, I want to see her."

"And I won't allow it. Leave the woman some dignity, will you. Remember her as she was in life."

Something in her tone must have conveyed the intended message, she saw that, but he wouldn't be deterred. "Move."

She sighed, holding on to her patience by the thinnest of threads. "Mr. Castle, don't make me arrest you."

He drew back. "On what charges?"

"I'll think of something." She leaned her back against the slab, pushing it back into the refrigerator. She blindly reached behind her, and closed the steel door with a resounding slam. "Go home, all of you. I have an investigation to run and you're in my way."

Five pairs of eyes were murderous, the M.E. still looked shell-shocked, Rick's gaze was sad, and her Captain's conveyed both censure and pride. It was obvious Castle wanted to say more, but his mother and daughter flanked him, making soothing noises, Alexis staring at her questioningly.

Lanie Parrish wiped her eyes and left her boyfriend's embrace. "You know, Detective, you didn't make any friends today."

Sam felt a corner of her mouth hitch up in a cynical smile. "I'm not here to make friends, Doctor. I'm here to catch a killer. And I don't give a fuck if you like my methods." She met Rick's eyes. "Detective Kovacz, please escort them out. Now!"

Only Captain Arroyo and Dr. O'Halloran remained in the morgue with her.

"Captain, please pull the necessary strings to get Beckett's cases."

He nodded. "I will, but Samantha—"

He only used her given name when she was in for a scolding. And she didn't have time for it now. "I know, Cap," she interrupted him. "I will make amends later. After I catch this guy."

With one last speculative look he left her alone with the M.E.

"You have my report, Doctor?"

"Y-yes". He cleared his throat and was all business as he handed her a file. "Cause of death was indeed the shot to the back of the head. I found the remnants of the bullet. A .42 as I thought. There are scratches on her throat, a uniform pattern."

She glanced up from the file? "Necklace?"

"Could be if someone ripped it off her throat. Why?"

"She always wore a necklace with her deceased mother's ring on it." Sam narrowed her eyes, staring over his shoulder. "The watch the killer took belonged to her father. But it wasn't robbery, because he left the earrings."

"And money," O'Halloran supplied.

"And money. So why take the necklace and watch." Her voice became softer. "Proof that the job was done?" she whispered.

She ran the possibilities in her mind. It could be. The missing necklace and watch could be proof that this had been a hit. Which would also explain the post-mortem disfigurement. Make it tough to identify her. Why bother, though. As a cop, her fingerprints were in the system.

She hoped Captain Arroyo would get Beckett's files ASAP. If this had indeed been a hit, any clues were in those files.

"What else?"

"Multiple signs of struggle on her hands, wounds on knees, heavy bruising at the left side of the ribs. Suggests she was kicked with the toe of a boot. A boot-sized bruise in the middle of her stomach."

"Any ligature marks?"

"Beside those scratches on her neck, no. She wasn't restrained."

Then how could a trained cop be overpowered enough to be shot execution style? "Drugs?"

O'Halloran shook his head. "Tox screen came back negative."

A shiver ran up her spine. "Found any unusual puncture wounds, Doc? Needle marks?"

"No, Detective."

"Could you run the tox screen again for me, please?"

He sighed. "It will still be negative the second time, Detective."

"In understand, but humor me. Only this time run a test for metabolites of Succinylcholine."

He blinked at her.

"I know my chemistry, Doc. Have it run again." She walked to the door. "Then go home. It's been a long day."

She left the morgue, the file crinkling under the strain of her grip, her heart beating a staccato rhythm, her breath coming in short, panting gasps, hoping she was wrong.


End file.
